The Chemicals Between Us
by glaube
Summary: FIN! Brad writes down his reflections on Schuldig and their relationship; Schuldig considers suicide, mistakenly believing the precog doesn't care. Will Brad save him in time? [BxS, references to NxO, AxY]
1. Owning an Addiction

**The Chemicals Between Us**

Disclaimer/Summary: I don't own them, and I'd like to, because Braddy and Schu are my Schwartz favorites. BxS. Song and lyrics are property of Bush and are also, obviously, not mine. POV and tense may shift; for now, this is Brad's reflections upon his history with Schuldich.

_I want you to **remember**  
A love so full it could send us all ways  
**I want you to surrender**  
All my feelings rose today  
And I want you to remain  
**The power of children can amaze  
I'll try not to complain  
I know that's a pisser baby**_

**Chapter 1: Owning an Addiction**

I've always been a man who wants power and control, Schuldig. So when I got to Rosenkreuz, I didn't waste time making mistakes; I began, immediately, to carve my path through the future. Being a precog has its advantages; I knew many years before Estet formally told me how much of an asset I would be to both organizations. But our story begins at Rosenkreuz, where I worked my way past the other precognitives and clairvoyants until I reached the top of my class -- earning a room to myself and a place as a teacher's aid, with the side job of focusing my visions on the tracking and capture of other talents.

Which is where you come in, I suppose. I had just turned 17, you must have been twelve, when I got my first vision of you -- tricking on the streets for money for drugs that presumably made the voices inside your head quite hazy. You may think, Schuldig, that I ignore you, but the truth is that I've always seen you clearly. Too clearly. The vision of you was perhaps my longest ever; lasting at least thirty minutes and leaving me with a splitting migraine for the rest of the week. You want the details? I saw you pick up your customer; I saw him fuck you; I saw you climb out of bed, take your money, and head further down the street to exchange it for drugs. I saw you light up the marijuana and stick your arm with a needle of questionable origin, I saw your face melt into relief.

I was sent to Berlin to pick you up about a month later, in a crowded club. I don't think you trusted me, and you were right. I came to get you to Rosenkreuz. I came to send you to hell.

That's what Rosenkreuz is, you know, even for me, and I escaped most of the brutality. But you were always open, always rebellious. I had visions of them punishing you, beating you, raping you once you came to the school. But I digress.

A crowded club, and a loud one, it was, too. You were twelve. Of course you used your powers to get in to find drugs, alcohol, or a quick fuck for fun or pay -- you were always a bit of the manipulative bastard. But you didn't trust me, and I spent a long time trying to figure out why. I wouldn't have trusted me either. It occured to me some time ago that you've never felt able to get past my shields; but it's like staring at the door you want to get past without realizing you're already in the room, looking outside through a window and so caught up in the view that you wonder why you're not inside, when you are. Paradoxically, you've never felt able to get through them, because you've always, always, already been inside of them.

Anyway. You didn't trust me. But I was a well dressed, handsome chap in a suit, and you were a prostitute who needed drugs to stay sane. Not exactly a match made in heaven, but eventually, I just promised you enough money to get you to come out to my car. Of course, I took advantage of our little illusion -- myself as your paying customer -- to keep your trust I just had to screw you. I convinced myself that you would think it weird to have a customer who only wanted idle chat; a twelve year old child who never was a child but only an adult.

It was very foolish of me to indulge back then, very, very foolish.

Afterwards, when I put my clothes back on and started to clean up you kept staring at me with the most curious expression, and when I asked you what the problem was, you said I'd brought the silence.

I only realized what you meant when they took you off the drugs at Rosenkreuz, and had visions of your screams in the laboratory when your already fragile shielding collapsed completely. You scattered everywhere when they finally shattered; and I pulled you into my head to let yourself begin to build back the pieces. An unfair advantage, to be sure, I gave to you, the day I let you do that. Not that it was all that pleasant for either of us. You hated me because I brought you to a place where they gave you no drugs, where sex was never pleasant. And at that time, I can presume that the only pleasant sex you ever had was with me and I refused to indulge you more. You see, for a man trying to become powerful, weaknesses are a dangerous thing indeed. And you have always been a weakness.

I graduated from Rosenkreuz at 18 and left you there for a good five years to fend for yourself, deciding to work my way up through the ranks of Estet. Even without being there, I could watch you develop in my visions, although I tried so hard not to -- to bend my will in another direction. I watched you build your shields and strengthen your telepathy, I watched you manipulate, I watched you build your power and wield it maliciously against those around you. Even though you tried so hard to hate me, I know it made you miserable when I left -- anyone who found a spark of happiness at Rosenkreuz was promptly manipulated by you, fucked by you, and left by you; and I saw visions of all of it. Do you know how distracting it is to be attempting to work and then have to sit through a vision of you having sex? Do you have any idea? Of course you don't.

I watched you grow up from a distance even though you never really were a child, watched your body change, watched you become, if anything, more attractive. I meant for those five years to be time away from you; time to seal off the weakness, time to stop indulging myself with thoughts of you and the first time we had sex in the back of the car when I retrieved you for Rosenkreuz.

But when I was given the job of building Schwartz; when you turned 18, five years of work went down the drain: I was to build the assassin team that could make all of Estet's dreams come true, and you were Rosenkreuz's most promising telepath. I remember walking back to that hellhole, stepping inside your room, and waiting for you to return from classes. You came back from a shower after a fighting class, and considering you were neither marred nor limping, I took it that you won. Your hair was wet, your shirt was off, a towel draped over your shoulders, pants hanging low on loose and slender hips. You had enough bravado to saunter up to me, press a kiss to my lips, and lean your irresistable body against mine. You would've won that battle, you know, I would have screwed you right then and there, except for what you said.

"Miss me, Braddy?"

Braddy.

So I told you and coldly, at that, that my name was Crawford; and you grinned.

"Whatever makes you sleep at night, Braddy."

And at that point I wasn't sure whether I wanted to kill you or screw you senseless. You didn't back off. You refused to relent. You put new wrinkles in my fresh suit.

You'd gotten better with your telepathy, I'll give you that. You knew I was planning on taking you somewhere, because you asked where we were going. I told you, and you grinned again.

"Mmm... what makes you think I'll go with you?" You drawled lazily. "I've gotten along fine without you, Braddy. And it's not like you can make me, Liebe."

I think that's when I lost it; shoved you against the wall and smashed our lips together. You took off my glasses and tossed them towards the floor; taking the moment of impulsive action as a victory. I won the battle though, refusing to screw you until you begged, and finally slamming in unprepared. Cruel to be kind, I suppose.

"Who owns you, Schuldig?"

You wouldn't answer, trying to grind yourself against me, so I pulled out, turning your face towards mine. Your eyes narrowed in rebellion, torn between hating me and loving me, I know.

"Fuck!" You had cursed, and we brawled a bit, rolling on the floor. But I was older, and pinned you down, grinding my hips against yours, rewarded with a loud moan.

"Who owns you, Schuldig?"

You glared at me for a moment, still trying to rebel. "You do."

And we screwed on the floor and when it was over I stood up, cleaned off, and gave you an hour to pack your things.

"Fucking bastard."

You muttered to my back on my way out. But when I closed the door I could have sworn I heard you cry. By the time I had reached the hallway I had convinced myself that the entire thing was an impulsive mistake -- that I was not attracted to you, or could not be attracted to you; that allowing you to get to me was a weakness I couldn't afford.

But I'm sure you know all too well how hard it is to truly kick an addiction.

_Leave me some love, folks, for now I'm out like a light. -glaube._


	2. Lonely at the Top

**The Chemicals Between Us**

Disclaimer/Summary: I don't own them, and I'd like to, because Braddy and Schu are my Schwartz favorites. BxS. Song and lyrics are property of Bush and are also, obviously, not mine. POV and tense may shift; for now, this is Brad's reflections upon his history with Schuldich.

_The chemicals between us  
The **walls that lie between us**  
Lying in this bed  
The chemicals displaced  
**There is no lonlier state  
Than lying in this bed**  
_

**Chapter 2: Lonely at the Top**

It doesn't take a telepath to know that you were furious with me when I left Rosenkreuz, and probably furious at yourself as well. Furious at yourself for giving in when I pressured you, furious at me for breaking my calm behavior, furious at the fact that you found yourself, and don't deny it, hopelessly attracted to me and hating yourself for it.

Don't worry. You weren't alone. I've always been hopelessly attracted to you, too; and found myself hating you for it. For that stupid cocky smile when I knew you felt anything but confident, for the lazy way you tried to get back under my skin, for the way you let your hands wander when you wanted my attention. I hated the way I wanted you to do those things, the way you were unknowingly trying to worsen my weakness. So I forcefully ignored you.

You can't become the most powerful assassin group in the world overnight. I was a busy man, and you were distracting me from my purpose. Like I've said so many times before, you were a weakness I couldn't afford. I don't know why you didn't just stop; but you always tried to get under my skin even after you started looking for pleasure elsewhere. I was such a bastard to you, you know.

Because I've never told you how much my visions tend to revolve around you whether I want them to or not, there's no way you could have known that I would see what you did. You started clubbing heavily again, and I let you, in the hopes that you would find something else to set your affections on, something that wouldn't shun you cruelly the way I did. At first it was harmless, a little smoking, a little dancing, a little drinking, some flirting -- enough toying with the emotions of those around you to get your mind off of me, I guess. You never got into any of the drugs I know you must have been on when I found you, I guess because you didn't want your shields to become dependent on any of that anymore when you had finally gotten them to a sufficient strength. But the casual dancing, the casual drinking, the casual smoking soon became casual fucking, and I know you don't understand, but I had to watch it every single time. 

And it wasn't fair because the weak part of me wanted me to be the one you were with, and I put the blame on you for being a stupid, lazy slut. Remember how I was always up to give you some sarcastic remark when you came home drunk and smelling of sex? It's because I was angry at myself for caring, and the easiest way to alleviate that was to take it out on you, the source of all my weakness.

You can't possibly know how lonely it is to try to sleep in your bed when you know the person you really want with you is out fucking your replacements. Or maybe you do, in a different sort of way, when I replaced you with work and threw myself headlong into making us invincible. And maybe on the outside we were. 

I think the worst part was the days when you'd get too lazy to go out to a club and just fuck Farfello -- not only would I see it coming, I'd hear it, from the thin walls of our apartment. I remember fighting with you about it, after a particularly vocal round of sex on your part, when you came back from locking his room with that stupid, satisfied smirk.

I told you your behavior was unacceptable.

"It's not like he can feel any of it anyways." Was your reply. True enough, messing around with Farfello was really just about the pleasure for your part and the tolerance on his, once you convinced him that men fucking hurt God.

I told you that was the problem, it was like using a drug, a substitute. You sneered at me.

"Why do you give a fuck, Braddy? You certainly don't give a shit."

Oh, but I did, Schuldig. I really did. But I lied to you like all the other times.

"Crawford." I corrected you with a calmness I didn't feel. You've never made me feel calm.

"If it bothers you so much why don't you do something about it?" You said, lighting up a cigarette, leaning your delicious body against my own, and then blowing smoke in my face. I waved it away calmly.

"Why would I want to?" I asked coldly; trying to give you the impression that all I cared about was the performance of Schwartz and not your own mental health. If you had realized that I was lying and stayed closer for just a few more minutes, I would have given in. Around you I'm always close to cracking, going so crazy, and being so alone at the top of the mountain I built for myself by walking all over you.

But you didn't. You took the shallow insult and grinned wryly, backing off and heading for the door. I heard what you muttered on the way out, after you put out your cigarette against my impeccably clean white wall, leaving a small black mark.

"Because you're the only one who can." You had said, and opened the door.

"Where are you going?"

I asked.

"Out." You said, and as soon as the door shut, I was presented with another vision, another club, another body, another bed that wasn't mine.

I went to bed alone that night, like always. But I didn't sleep.

_Leave me some love, folks. ^_^ This fic is a nice distraction from Karma Police... I swear I'll update KP later this week though. -glaube._


	3. Opportunity Cost

**The Chemicals Between Us**

Disclaimer/Summary: I don't own them, and I'd like to, because Braddy and Schu are my Schwartz favorites. BxS. Song and lyrics are property of Bush and are also, obviously, not mine. POV and tense may shift; for now, this is Brad's reflections upon his history with Schuldig.

_I want you to remember  
Everything you said  
**Every driven word  
Like a hammer, hell, to my head**_

The chemicals between us  
**The walls that lie between us  
Then lying in this bed  
The chemicals displaced  
There is no lonlier state  
Than lying in this bed**  


**Chapter 3: Opportunity Cost**

You were angry at me when we left Germany, because you couldn't speak Japanese worth a flip. Nagi was angry at me because I had to convince him to let you into his mind, where you could pick up the language, and Farfello's always angry. We fought about it, remember?

I told you that the only reason you were upset was that you'd have to find new fuck buddies. You threw your bottle of beer at me, which I knew you were going to do as soon as I made the sarcastic comment, so it was all too easy to simply move my head to the side and let the bottle smash into the wall. You let out a frustrated yell, apparently even more infuriated by your apparent inability to get past my barriers. I told you I was sorry, you know, but you had already left the room. Such was our dance.

When we got to Japan and settled in that first night you were exhausted from jet lag, and fell asleep on the couch. I know you thought Nagi moved you that night, simply assuming that I wouldn't care enough to pick you up and move you to your bed, but it was me, Schuldig. And it was safe enough with you asleep for me to indulge myself; I kissed you on the forehead. Which was a mistake really, undoing a few years of work and practice in being a cold bastard. Not that it mattered since I never told you any of this. Until now, that is. But I don't want to digress from my story.

I'm really glad I'm not a telepath. I don't want to know what you thought of me, if you ever really hated me for all the times that I did things that should've made you hate me. Do you understand that it was a protective barrier, Schuldig? That you were a weakness? Will you understand, when I show you all this?

It's imperative that you do.

You know the Estet story, and I see no point in relating all of those missions and conflicts. It's getting late and I have limited time. Remember when Takatori beat you with the golf club?

I wanted, so badly, to reach out and snatch it from him. To beat the fat, greasy, disgusting bastard until he was puddle on the floor, and then give whatever was left alive of his body to Farfello for play afterwards. And I would have, just so you know, if not for a vision on my way into the office of myself doing that exact thing and its consequences.

Estet would have terminated me. And by that, I mean, that you would have been given the mission to kill me, and you would've done it, and then you would've killed yourself. I didn't want that. I wanted us to have a future free of their rules, with just us, you know? So I didn't grab the golf club, ironically enough, because I wanted you to live. Because I wanted to hope for the chance to live with you, someday. You came so close to breaking through my barriers, then, too; like when we took you home, and you fell asleep, bruised and broken. I watched you sleep, and if you had woken up and just said my name, Brad. Not Crawford, not Liebe, not any of the annoyingly flippant nicknames you have for me, just Brad, I would've caved. Been putty in your hands. Brad's the type of guy who would've taken all the hits of that golf club for you, did you know? I guess you've never met him, though. I was always too busy being Crawford.

I remember a conversation we had one time, driving through the streets of Tokyo in the rain, with you watching the masses from the window as they hurried through the streets like so many rats in a giant, disturbing race; I remember passing by a couple kissing in the rain and feeling like we drove by in slow motion.

"What is it like to live, Crawford, that we should want to?"

I didn't answer you. I've never let myself live. You probably took my silence for apathy, but I'll tell you what I was thinking -- you've always been alive, Schuldig. Unstable, maybe; but bright and alive and full of energy like a fire. All different types of fire, too; you could be just as destructive and were always just as beautiful. It was the first time that you'd ever voiced your growing hatred of life to me; but I'd witnessed it in your actions -- the way you worked so hard to destroy the potential happiness of those around you. I guess if we couldn't be happy, then nobody else deserved it either.

Although your actions with Nagi were different. You were distinctly happy when Tot died, despite his anguish, and I'll admit that I felt some satisfaction in the death of the brainless twit as well. We were never any good at looking out for eachother, but I think both of us watched over Nagi, whether he realized it or not. Like brothers. Only I could never care for you like a brother, brotherhood is not intense enough to describe what there is between us. You changed though; later on, when Nagi became involved in Bombay, although you pretended not to be. You pretended not to know, pretended to ignore the entire situation. I pretended to ignore all of your personal lives almost constantly so I suppose I don't have the right to wonder over your choice. Did Bombay and Prodigy remind you of what we should have been like, Mastermind? Were they the equals that I've never let us be? Were they what you wished we could be like; young and innocent, free of any game-playing, equals, naive, in love, with a sincere care for eachother's well-being?

Have you ever stopped to wonder if we could have been good for eachother? Or if we will be good for eachother, ever? I'm sure we could have been, if I had let you in. But I was too proud to admit, despite your constant teasing, that you'd had me from day one. I didn't want you to win the stupid little battle. Oddly enough, if I had let you, we both would've come out winners of the war.

Reading back over this I want you to know that I have always cared about your well-being. I wouldn't be doing this now if I didn't. But I don't have much time so I will continue.

I feel a need to go back to our arrival in Japan to show you another point. When we got to Japan it didn't take you much time to get back into your old habits, clubbing all the time. And I was the same as always, building on our power, setting up our future, our glimmer of hope.

Who cared what the emotional cost was? I tried to tell myself I didn't. That I didn't care when you went out, that your behavior was just a shallow attempt to get my attention, that you didn't need me and that I certainly didn't need some stupid slut like you -- no matter how much your hair looked like liquid fire when the sun hit it the right way, or the way your lean body moved with such catlike grace whether fighting or dancing. I kept lying to myself, and in the process I lied to you. There's an economic term for the choices I've made: "Opportunity Cost." Opportunity Cost is the cost of the thing you lose in order to pursue something else. By chosing to pursue power and the future, I pushed you aside. The opportunity cost was our happiness. Upon reflection; what I lost was far more valuable than anything I could have gained. Apparently I would make a lousy economist.

During our years in Japan there were a few times you came close to breaking through again, though. When just another word would have done it, or another touch. Will you realize when you read this how little I deserve to have your love? I'm apprehensive that you'll be disgusted and leave, irritated by all my petty, cruel, shallow attempts to push you away. You would have every right, you know, Schuldig. It's funny, how all those years while I kept pushing you away, I still tried to keep you on such a tight leash, unable to stand your presence and unable to live without it. Such a paradox. Two steps forward and three steps back...or is it three steps forward and two steps back? I can't remember, it's been so long since I've been around the cliches of America.

I hope this is making sense, Schuldig. I want you to understand. I want you to remember. There's a chemistry between us, a bond that I've abused and trampled on and broken so much that you don't feel like fighting for it anymore.

The simple truth is I want you to hang onto it and fight for it. I always have. 

_Leave me some love, folks. ^_^ This fic is a nice distraction from Karma Police... I swear I'll update KP later this week though. Probably Sunday, now that I think about it. Um...to clarify Brad's reflections to time in this piece, it's something he's writing, at night. He's putting all of his reflections about Schuldig down on paper. This thing's really flowing pretty well for me so I expect it to be finished soon. -glaube._


	4. 3 Minutes to the Rest of Our Life

**The Chemicals Between Us**

Disclaimer/Summary: I don't own them, and I'd like to, because Braddy and Schu are my Schwartz favorites. BxS. Song and lyrics are property of Bush and are also, obviously, not mine. POV and tense may shift; for now, this is Brad's reflections upon his history with Schuldig.

_**The chemicals between us**  
The chemicals between us  
Lying in this bed_

We're of the **hollow men**  
We are the naked ones  
We **never meant you harm  
Never meant you wrong  
I'd like to thank  
All of my lovers, lovers, lovers**

**Chapter 4: 3 Minutes to the Rest of Our Life**

Tonight was the worst, wasn't it, Schuldig?

It's been a day full of visions to say the least, starting around 2 PM, when I sat at my desk trying to work and got a vision of Abyssinian and Balinese arguing.

They're like us, you know? Maybe that's why you wanted to mess Balinese up. Your equivalent shouldn't get a shot at love, either, right? But I'm getting ahead of myself.

What I pieced together from that vision led me to believe that our two little kittens have something of a thing for eachother, that silly little Balinese actually believed at some point that he could bed his icy leader, live to tell the tale, and keep doing so in monogamous harmony for the rest of his life.

Abyssinian, apparently, pretends to have other ideas and spent most of his time shooting down our little blond's attempts to woo him.

I've got time enough left for this, Schuldig, I'll write it down. You'll laugh at the irony.

***

_In the flowershop, Aya and Youji are working. It's the middle of the day, with few customers, but they're arguing animatedly._

"No." Aya says flatly, turning away from yet another of Youji's advances. Apparently the blond has reached the end of his patience, because Youji's eyes narrow in frustration.

"GOD DAMNIT, RAN."

He curses loudly, and the redhead's eyes close, refusing to face the blond.

"Why the hell can't you just fucking admit it, Ran? I want to be with you. And you want to be with me."

Steeling himself for what he must've felt he had to say, the redhead turns, eyes and expression cold as ice.

"Why, Youji, would I want to be with some lazy slut?"

Youji's anger washes away, replaced with hurt that he tries to mask by sliding back on his sunglasses and heading for the door. Aya's voice cuts through, tinged with concern, but by now Balinese is probably too far gone to have heard it.

"Where are you going, Youji?"

It comes out harsher than the redhead intends, because he cringes slightly, but the blond's got his back to Abyssinian as he leaves the shop.

"Out."

Replies Balinese, stepping out onto the street. The door closes swiftly behind him.

"Like you care."

Murmurs Youji, heading down the street. Back in the flowershop, Abyssinian takes a seat, burying his head in the arms of his orange sweater.

***

I didn't understand why I got that vision. It had nothing to do with what I usually keep my mind directed towards, nothing at all. So I went back to work without a second thought, continuing to do so until about 5 PM, when I went downstairs to eat dinner with the rest of the team. You disappeared to your room, and I ignored you as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary.

At 10, you announced you were going out. At 10:15 I got another vision. You. The club. Balinese. You, manipulating him to get him to sleep with you; each of you borrowing the other as a substitute for your respective leaders. You know what would've happened next -- going to some stupid hotel and screwing eachother's brains out, Youji going home to an Abyssinian who would've been ready to accept him had he not obviously gone out and slept with whatever he could find.

You would have destroyed the two of them, you know.

At 10:18 I made a phone call.

Ran was pissed off, but at 10:20, as I headed for the car, I got a vision of him meeting me shortly; and by 10:42 we were set to track the two of you down, that is, after I convinced him to not even bother attempting to kill me and proved that I wasn't armed.

He seemed disappointed somehow, but that's beside the point.

By 11:06 we stood outside the club and calmly made our way inside. Your telepathy would have been useful -- the bouncer didn't believe that Abyssinian or I were the clubbing type and getting inside cost me a pretty bit of yen. He, of course, didn't pay. Cheap bastard. He's putting his sister through college now.

By 11:11 we were inside, by 11:13 we'd formulated a plan. Ran, uncomfortable as he was, made his way onto the dance floor to intercept you and Balinese. Of course Balinese left you for him, and they headed out past me, Ran quietly listening to Youji's apologies and explanations.

Maybe because I told him that if he didn't I would personally kill him and the blond for putting me through so much irritation. At any rate, at 11:15 you were headed for the bar for what I could only assume was some heavy drinking and planning to find someone else to fuck instead.

Something needed to be done, Schuldig. So I found you at the bar and calmly pushed away your drink.

"We are going home."

An order. Of course you would try to defy it.

"No, Braddy. You're going to go home and fish that stick out of your ass," you slurred with a drunken, malicious grin. "And maybe frame it. I'm going to stay here and get drunk and laid."

I wrenched you out of your seat.

"No, _Schuldig_, we are going home."

You fought me the whole way out, and I don't know how we managed to get out of the club without me being arrested. But I got you into the car, your angry eyes rimmed with tears.

"Why the fuck did you come?" You asked, angrily, when I got into the driver's seat.

"Vision. You were going to fuck Balinese. It would've ruined his chances with Abyssinian for good." I said, as calmly as I could, like it didn't matter that you were screwing someone else, someone who was definitely not me.

"Since when have you given a shit if anyone's happy?" You asked sourly, and I remained silent as we drove home. You weren't done, though, storming inside; and when I followed you into the living room you launched into me with a scream of German curses.

I deserved it. I'll admit, though, that 'you stubborn, pig-headed, sadistic, masochistic bastard' hit the mark.

"Why the hell can't you just care?" You asked. Have you ever had one of those moments when the thing that you don't want to say slips out of your mouth at exactly the wrong time; when you lose your head in all your anger and frustration, and you don't mean it? What I said was one of them, though, Schuldig.

"Why would I care about some stupid whore?" I asked, and instantly regretted it. I'm sure you see the irony now. Abyssinian said almost the same exact thing to Balinese just hours before.

You stared at me, and I realized that I'd destroyed it...whatever, it was. Broken you. Really fucked things up, so to speak.

"Because I wanted you to." You said quietly, switching back to soft Japanese, before heading up the stairs.

I couldn't move, rooted to my spot by the agony of my mistakes.

I'm really out of time, but the truth is, Schuldig, no matter how hard I've fought to get you to believe otherwise, that I love you, absolutely, completely. You drive me crazy, you're extremely irritating, you're sardonic and everything I'm not. You're also beautiful and irresistable and I couldn't possibly live without you.

I'm writing all of this out to you because it's 11:58, and when we stopped arguing at 11:47, I had a vision of you attempting suicide at 12:01. I'm going to stop you. And I'm going to try to set things right.

I love you, Schuldig. I just hope you understand.   
  
  
  
_Leave me some love, folks. I feel really bad leaving this chapter at such a cliffhanger that I'm going to go ahead and write the next one and finish the thing out (because if I was a reader, I wouldn't want to sit around and be like "OMG IS SCHULDIG GOING TO DIE!? WHAT IS BRAD GOING TO DO?! I HATE YOU, GLAUBE HATEHATEHATE TEH HATE XP!") To clarify, the whole thing has been a long-ass letter Brad's been cranking out as fast as possible, 11 minutes. I don't really know when this ties in, if it's Gluhen, or before Gluhen, or towards the end of the series. So if anyone has any idea...let me know, lol. REVIEW!!! -glaube_


	5. Lie in this Bed

**The Chemicals Between Us**

Disclaimer/Summary: I don't own them, and I'd like to, because Braddy and Schu are my Schwartz favorites. BxS. Song and lyrics are property of Bush and are also, obviously, not mine. TENSE SHIFTS IN THIS CHAPTER.

_The chemicals between us  
The army of achievers  
Lying in this bed  
The chemicals displaced  
There is no lonlier state  
Than lying in this bed_

The chemicals between us  
The chemicals between us  
The chemicals  
The chemicals between us 

**Epilogue: Lie in this Bed**

Brad Crawford folded the pages he'd been rapidly scribbling out for the last eleven minutes, sliding them neatly into an envelope, straightening his tie and checking his watch before exiting his office and heading down the hall.

Schuldig's door was unlocked, the music loud. Nagi poked his head out the door in irritation, about to yell to the German to keep it down, but upon a signal from Crawford, returned to his room and shut the door silently.

Crawford stepped inside, taking a moment to stare at the German who stared out the window, undoutably crying, 9 mm handgun held to his head, hand shaking.

Crawford glanced at the clock on the wall and, with a calmness he did not feel, stepped forward, spinning Schuldig around, grabbing the wrist of his gun hand as he manuevered the other man back against the wall. A shot went off, harmless, through the ceiling, the telepath's back against the wall and wrist pinned, gently, by Crawford's fingers, warm on his skin.

Without any warning, Crawford leaned forward, pressing his lips against Schuldig's gently. It took a few moments for Schuldig to stop shaking, his grip on the gun loosened, mouth finally opening to Brad's kiss. Crawford gently pulled the gun from Schuldig's hand, before breaking away, slightly breathless. The telepath stared at him through wide, tearful eyes, and Brad couldn't help but think that he looked like a wreck. He was sure that after the events of the evening he looked just as awful, noting the ink blots on his right hand from writing in such a fury. Remembering the letter, he handed the envelope to Schuldig, then reached up to gently caress the telepath's cheek with a softness he'd never shown before.

"Read it." He murmured quietly. "I just hope you understand."

He turned and left the room, depositing the gun in the trashcan of his office after taking out its clip, then headed to his bedroom to undress and prepare for bed. It was getting late, and after such an emotionally taxing day he knew he should try to get some rest.

Back in his room, Schuldig took a seat, opening the letter with shaky fingers, somewhat pleased to find that the American had taken the time to write it all out in German.

_Schuldig,_

I've always been a man who wants power and control...

A few minutes later the redhead stood, turning off the loud music that had beaten through the walls, heading silently down the hall, letter clutched in one hand against his chest as he headed to Crawford's room, calmly letting himself in without knocking.

The American was stretched out on the bed, amber eyes fixated on the ceiling, glasses resting on his immaculate nightstand, anything but asleep and lost in thought. Silently, the German headed to his bed, cloaked in shadow, slipping in next to Crawford, and placing a light kiss against the American's collarbone.

Crawford blinked, noticing Schuldig's presence for the first time, and turned to look at the telepath. 

"You came?" He asked, quietly, as if afraid that the German's presence at all was just a harsh illusion created by his own wishful thinking.

"Where else would I have gone, Liebe?" Schuldig drawled lazily.

"Crawford." Corrected the American stubbornly.

"Braddy." Insisted Schuldig with a grin.

"Brad." Crawford finally murmured after a moment, a compromise. Schuldig smiled.

"Yes. Brad." He agreed after a moment, pressing his lips to Crawford's, a little more heated than what Brad had used just minutes before.

"You know, Brad," he murmured, trying the name out and finding he liked it, "You're a bit of a bastard. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Crawford sighed, drawing Schuldig into his arms and encouraged when the redhead returned the casual embrace.

"I don't know. Because I thought it would make me weak." He admitted, turning his eyes away from the gorgeous telepath. "I'm sorry."

Schuldig nodded, seeming to accept the answer, snuggling deeper into the warmth of the precog's body.

"I'm sorry, too, Crawford. I didn't know you could see...and tonight.."

Brad pressed a finger to Schuldig's lips, effectively shutting him up.

"It's in the past, Schuldig. We've got the future now."

Schuldig smiled, trailing a finger teasingly along the American's chest.

"And what's in the future, Brad?"

"Well, I just had an extremely pleasant vision." Admitted the precog, whose eyes had gone unfocused for a moment.

"Oh really?" Schuldig asked, and Brad turned the two of them over, supporting himself over Schuldig's body by pressing his palms into the matress.

"Really." Crawford replied, before their lips met in a heated kiss.

Sometime later, Crawford's pajamas and Schuldig's clothes scattered in a non-organized manner that would've irritated the precog had he not been otherwise occupied, the two curled against eachother; warm, exhausted bodies. Schuldig was about to drift off to sleep in Brad's arms when the precog spoke.

"Schuldig?"

"Yes, Brad?" Schuldig asked sleepily.

"I love you."

Schuldig smiled, finding one of Crawford's hands and entwining their fingers.

"I love you too, Brad."

Fin.

  
  
  
  
_Leave me some love, folks. Alright. I hereby proclaim this fic finished, which means I can get back on Karma Police, because this one was begging to be written inside of my head. I hope you liked it and that the ending suits. Peace. -glaube_


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